


j'aurais pas dû dire ça

by DanceWithTheDiaval



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Bottom line - never assume people can't understand your language, Complicated Family Trees, Cosette is their half-sister, Half-Veela!Jehan, Hogwarts Fourth Year, M/M, Misunderstandings, Montparnasse and Enjolras are twins, POV Third Person Limited, Pining, They go by different last names, Triwizard Tournament
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 02:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9578438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanceWithTheDiaval/pseuds/DanceWithTheDiaval
Summary: “Grantaire.” It was the light haired brother who spoke, English words carrying the lilt of the Swedish accent.“We’ve been fluent in French for years…we can understand you…”In which Jehan and Grantaire take to pining over their crushes in their native language, Montparnasse is having way too much fun with eavesdropping and Enjolras refuses to stay silent any longer.And for the love of Merlin, someonepleaseget that Hufflepuff away from their sister.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based off [this tumblr post](http://dance-with-the-diaval.tumblr.com/post/153925481778/jehanparnasseenjoltaire-aesthetic-beauxbatons-x) I made.
> 
> My first AO3 and Les Mis story~ Also I haven't written anything properly in years, do forgive me for slight OOCness and if it isn't up to the usual standard.
> 
> Basically, this was originally meant to be just a one-shot but then _plot_ happened, so instead I'm making it into a multi chapter fic. 
> 
> The title translates into 'I Should Not Have Said That'. I know, how original. But hey it fit the story so why not? On that note the French in this story will be translated by amazingly lovely and super-talented Elise, who you all know on Tumblr as @[just-french-me-up.](http://just-french-me-up.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> **TRANSLATIONS WILL BE IN THE END NOTES**
> 
>  
> 
> Also a huge thank you to RaverIn for betaing this for me <3 you the real mvp Pikachit~
> 
> P.S This will mostly be following the books rather than the movie.

Personally, Grantaire thought the introductory ceremony was fucking ridiculous.

Wouldn’t the presence of two foreign schools inspire enough awe and wonder as it was? Wouldn’t simply having the Hogwarts students witness their arrival as their Headmaster did have the same effect? He seriously doubted that the British students had witnessed the majesty of Abraxans in flight before. The female students were evidently the main focus with their soft sighs and butterflies that fluttered around their delegation. The four male students - comprising of himself, Jehan, Bellamy and Fabian- brought up the rear, hands clasped behind their back and chins held high like proud escorts to the ladies.

What. A. Joke.

He wondered if their hosts even realised how much preparation actually went into their little display. Surely they never would’ve guessed that not even fifteen minutes ago the lot of them were shivering where they stood, what with their silk charmeuse doing absolutely nothing to ward off the highland chill. Even when they entered the blessed warmth of the castle it was a flurry of activity.

Wands were whipped out, butterfly charms were prepped and readied, uniforms straightened; all the while Madame Maxine hovered around them with a critical eye spouting last minute instructions.

_“Do not be rude, speak in Eenglish if you can ‘elp it. . .”_

_”. . . Make sure all your ribbons are straight, Mademoiselle Moreau and Monsieur Prouvaire do tie back your ‘air. . .”_  
  
“ - Same goes for you, Monsieur Grantaire. . .”

_“. . . Mademoiselle Delacour change into your costume quickly, ‘ave your seester help if you must. . . “_

 He voiced his thoughts to Jehan after they wrapped up their entrance, dividing to stand at opposite ends of the Great Hall. The half-veela stifled a dry chuckle and shushed Grantaire’s musings as Dumbledore’s voice rang out once more, this time calling forth the school from the north.

Almost as one, the Beauxbatons students subconsciously pressed themselves closer to the wall as Durmstrang marched in with intimidating uniformity accompanied by minor explosions and some sort of martial arts display. It was those performers that quickly caught Grantaire’s eye, impressing him when they finished with a stream of fire from their wands.  
  
“ _Frѐres_?”  
  
Jehan cocked his head.“ _...Twins._ ”  
  
“I want one.”  
  
He was pretty sure Jehan could understand his sentiment. After all, an entire wall in their dorm room was covered twice over by scraps of parchment boasting his fanciful musings. If he didn’t acknowledge the beauty that had slapped them in the face, then this Jehan was an imposter and no friend of Grantaire’s. Thankfully, no drastic measures needed to be taken when Jehan finally said, “Which one?”

It was a silly question. While the performers were almost perfect mirror images of each other, save for their colouring, it was clear his interest was set on the slighter of the two. “Apollo is my new god,” Grantaire lowered his voice conspiringly. “But you may have Artemis if you wish...Or perhaps Hades would be more appropriate?”  
  
“I do wish,” Jehan hummed.

After that spectacle closed with a polite smattering of applause, they were directed to empty seats at one of the four long tables. _Ravenclaw_ his mind helpfully provided, recalling the brief set of notes about the school he had skimmed over the previous night.

With his friend seemingly lost in his own thoughts and the subjects of their interests obscured from direct sight, Grantaire turned his attentions over the rest of the Durmstrang delegation at the neighbouring table. Now that they were seated, they pulled off their heavy fur coats, revealing underneath the same crimson uniform robes for all students. The male students outnumbered their female counterparts in contrary to Beauxbatons, though their difference was more stark. There were only three girls from the northern school present, including the petite blonde that appeared to be the Headmaster’s aide. Some of their delegation were staring in fascination at the starry ceiling above them, while others examined the golden plates and goblets with impressed looks. He and his schoolmates did no such thing; they were serenaded by wood nymphs when they dined back in France, what metal the cutlery was made of here wasn’t anything remarkable.

He was jolted out of his observations by Dumbledore’s choice words of welcome, and sudden manifestation of food along the tables reminded him of the hunger the journey had caused. Not only was there a variety of food but the sight of a handful of familiar dishes sent a pang of homesickness through him. Grantaire twisted in his seat to skim over the other table beside them - the students sporting red and gold. A laugh bubbled from his chest as he spotted a very familiar dish.

“Oi, look, it is your favourite!” He elbowed the redhead beside him, “ _Bouillabaisse_.”

“ _Quoi, oύ?!”_ Jehan immediately broke away from the Ravenclaw boy he had just been speaking to, and he wasn’t the only one excited about the discovery. Two of the nearby girls’ heads also jerked up in interest. A small whine escaped him when he saw that their table held no serving of of the dish. The closest one was situated the next table over and a little further down from their own seats. Not one to be put off by that minor obstacle, he stage whispered a call to one of the girls. “ _Fleur, Fleur!_ ”

“ _Quoi?_ ” Fleur snapped in irritation. However, her face softened when she turned and noticed who it was that called for her. Jehan felt sorry for the unfortunate soul who got slapped across the face with her silvery blonde hair as a result of her sharp movement.  
  
Grantaire winced in sympathy, opting to load his plate with whatever was closest to him. He ended up with three different meats and a random assortment of vegetables while Jehan continued to speak across the table.

“Cousin please, there is bouillabaisse over there,” he jerked his head in the direction that Grantaire had indicated. “You should be the one to get it. You are closer - and prettier, they will not mind.” A triumphant grin spread across his face when the flattery worked out as well as expected.

Grantaire snorted and reached into his inner vest pocket. “I forget you are related.”

“Distantly, distantly.” Jehan waved off, eagerly awaiting the witch’s return with the stew. “Now, that better not be your flask I see you reaching for. You cannot get away with that sort of thing here.”

“. . .Of course not.”

 

 

 

 

The twenty-four hour rule meant chaos the next day.

The entire student body was buzzing with anticipation and many rose early just to see who would submit their names into the cup. That morning Jehan was practically skipping as they crossed the grounds, with Grantaire trailing behind at a more leisurely pace with the rest of their cohorts.

By the time they reached the front door, Jehan had at least slowed down - but still maintained an exuberant spring in his step. Those gathered around the Goblet of Fire stood back to allow them passage, watching eagerly.

Madam Maxime entered the hall behind her students, organising them into a straight line with minimal fuss. Again, the witches went first, with Grantaire and Jehan third and fourth to last in line respectively. He noticed that the brunette stood straighter than usual, basking in the attention he rarely experienced. Jehan clapped the other’s shoulder good-naturedly and flashed him his brightest smile before turning to face the front. Honestly, the guy didn’t give himself enough credit, but perhaps this year would change that. Out of the hundreds of Beauxbatons students, they were chosen as part of the dozen elites for a reason. Even if neither were chosen as a Champion, no one could possibly undermine their capabilities once they returned home.  
  
One by one, they crossed over the Age Line and dropped their names into the white blue flames. Jehan kissed his parchment for luck before releasing it into the fire. Like the others he was met with scattered applause as he moved to the side and rocked back and forth on his heels.  
  
When Grantaire went to put in his name, his body stiffened just before releasing the parchment, eyes drifting past the Goblet entirely.

 Jehan’s brow furrowed as his gaze swung around to follow Grantaire’s line of sight.

Oh.

_  
Oh._

The boy was perched on the steps of the marble staircase leading to the upper floors, languidly stroking the fur of the black cat on their lap. Grantaire’s so-named Apollo was undoubtedly beautiful, but it being the kind of beauty that would scare anyone save for Grantaire away. Beautiful in the way a sculpture of ice was; radiant to look at while frigid to the touch, melting into nothingness if the heat of one lingered too long unbidden.

However as Jehan recalled, the brother. . . He exuded a different kind of beauty.

Jehan decided he would refer to him as Hades for now, dark as the other was fair. He was beautiful the way that the night was, tauntingly inviting others to step into the darkness with the allure of mystery. He could wax poetic about the twins for the entire night if the mood struck him, though Jehan had a hunch that there was an underlying edge of immorality within his Hades. Grantaire may have sensed it to, maybe that was why he opted for Apollo instead. The other was too similar to himself to be comfortable.  
  
To his disappointment, Hades was nowhere to be seen, but beside Apollo he did note a familiar figure he had met earlier, this time with his arm curled around the waist of an amber-eyed woman sporting silver and green. Jehan paid no mind to the hiss and sputter of emitted sparks, signifying Grantaire’s parchment consumed by flames as he made his way up to the trio.  
  
“Joly, right?” Jehan gave them the same bright smile he had used just before. Not that he needed any real confirmation, it would be rude of him to forget the the thoughtful boy who had fussed over them at the feast. He even went so far as to offer to fetch a pepperup potion for poor Bellamy after a sneezing fit. “How long have you been watching the proceedings?” He inquired.  
  
“Hiya, Jehan.” Joly beamed. “Chetta and I’ve been here since breakfast. You wouldn’t believe how many people woke up before dawn, it’s not healthy I tell you- ow!” He clutched his bruised ribs and turned his pained expression to the girl beside him. “Right, sorry. Jehan, this is Musichetta Callaghan, Slytherin, and Enjolras Mikaelsson, Durmstrang, as you can tell.”

Of course, the uniform was a dead giveaway.

“ _Enchantѐ.”_ He greeted politely, brushing a kiss to Musichetta’s knuckles before firmly shaking Enjolras’ hand. _Aha, Enjolras, a name for the face..._ He even bent down to scratch the cat behind it’s ears when it sprung from Enjolras’ lap and rubbed against his legs. “As Joly said, I am Jehan Prouvaire.”

 “Joly babe, I like this one. Not as uppity as the rest of ‘em.” Musichetta grinned. “The others are gonna love this.”  
  
“Who’s your friend?” It was Enjolras who spoke, his voice deeper than Jehan expected, with a lilting accent that he couldn’t quite place. His cat proceeded to jump back into his arms.  
  
“Hm?” Jehan turned around to see who Enjolras referred to and wasn’t at all surprised to see Grantaire hovering within earshot, feigning interest in the others who stepped up to the Goblet.

How subtle of him.

“R, come introduce yourself to Musichetta and Enjolras!”

Grantaire arched a sly brow but came closer all the same. “If I did not know better, I would think you are trying to replace me with new faces.” Jehan held back the urge to scoff at the fine show Grantaire was putting on, with his hands casually in his pockets to hide his nervous tic of twitchy fingers.  
  
“Do not be ridiculous,” Jehan laughed, eyes dancing. The others might assume it was a simple jest, but Grantaire had taken a long time before he revealed his insecurities to Jehan. He claimed to be a simple man yet he was so very complicated. “You are not so easy to replace - unless there is another you who does not have such a love affair with wine?”

Grantaire held up his hands in mock surrender. “Sabotaging my first impression, I swear I am not that bad. Call me Grantaire, or R if you prefer.” He greeted the two unfamiliar faces in the same way his companion did, though his handshake with Enjolras did last a beat longer than strictly necessary.

Jehan was almost certain it would have lasted longer had Joly not leapt up with an alarming whoop of joy. “Go on Courf!” 

Musichetta followed not a moment later. “Get on with it then! Give ‘im a shove boys!”

The three foreign students exchanged confused looks before realising the excitement was directed to another trio that had just entered. A spectacled Ravenclaw boy and Gryffindor with skin darker than Grantaire’s all but tossed the other Gryffindor between them into the Age Line circle. Jehan guessed that one must have been ‘Courf.’ He promptly straightened himself and dusted off his robes, flirtatiously winking at a gaggle of younger girls before dropping in his name with a flourish. Another round of cheers went up and he was patted on the back by the same pair he came with. “See you lot later then!” High-fiving Joly and Musichetta as they passed by, heading upstairs and out of sight.

“Well that was Courfeyrac, the big guy was Bahorel and Combeferre had the glasses.” Joly clarified. “Say, you haven’t had time for a proper tour of the castle grounds yet, have you?” He was answered by a chorus of no’s.

“We’ll have the honour.” Musichetta promptly linked arms with the two closest to her, which happened to be Joly and Jehan. “Come along then, did you know there’s a Giant Squid in the lake?”  
  
“So that was what bumped into the ship…”

“ _You mean that was not just a story!?”_

 

 

 

 

It was five o’clock by the time the five of them neared the end of the ‘tour’ at the boathouse. As soon as Grantaire saw the way the natural light flooded in through the traceried windows, he swore up and down that this would be his artistic place for the duration of their stay.  
  
“Are you sure you have not missed your calling as an Impressionist?” Jehan teased.

“Working _en plein air_ does not automatically make me the second coming of Monet,” Grantaire tugged on a loose strand of Jehan’s hair in retribution. Besides, if anyone cracked open one of his sketchbooks, it was clear his specialty lay in art nouveau. Or maybe romanticism if he chose to indulge in paint.

Musichetta had nodded slightly, which meant she at least knew they were referring to an art style. Maybe she was a Half-Blood or Muggleborn like he was? Well, no matter. Joly outwardly showed no understanding of the topic at hand, shrugging it off and continuing to lead the group back towards the castle.

“What did he mean by that?” Enjolras quickened his pace to catch up with Grantaire’s longer stride. His cat - Brorsa, apparently- followed closely at his heels. He’d learned it’s name when Enjolras yelled it after said cat ran off chasing a rat back in the boathouse. Weird name, but who was he to judge? He had a kneazle named Absinthe who was probably tearing his bed sheets to shreds this very moment. . . Hopefully one of the others would let the poor furball out of the carriage before she truly went mental.  
  
The blond had such a look of curiosity on his face that Grantaire felt compelled to provide an in-depth answer. The feeling only intensified once he realised Enjolras was completely naive to the muggle society in general and not simply their art styles. It was then that he remembered the Durmstrang Institute only took in Half-bloods and Purebloods. Odds were that Enjolras had little to no exposure to anything outside the wizarding world.  
  
Those poor elitist families with their blood supremacy ideals had no idea what they were missing out on - Grantaire for one, missed the convenience of using ball-point pens. These kinds of beliefs weren’t uncommon but they were unfortunate.

“Veela boy simply made a reference to a muggle art style from Paris in the 1870s-” Joly let out an undignified squawk and edged closer to Jehan, likely wanting to bombard him with questions upon that revelation. Well, that was nothing new. Grantaire rolled his eyes and continued on, “Impressionism was all about portraying the immediate sensations of a scene, there was also emphasis on how changing light could deform or destroy objects. The subjects were all contemporary of course, slices of Parisian life if you will…”

To Enjolras’ credit he wasn’t put off by Grantaire’s sudden dump of information. If anything, Grantaire would even say he was fascinated by the topic. Enjolras’ eyes lit up once it was mentioned that the whole redesign of the city was a clever ploy by Louis Napoleon to tame Paris. It was exceedingly effective - no one bothered rioting when there were cafes and nightclubs popping up all over the place. Every amused quirk of his lips, every question voiced only prompted increasingly dramatic gesticulations as Grantaire spoke.

That was until one particularly vigorous motion mimicking the guillotine accidentally struck Jehan.

Grantaire cut himself off mid-sentence, not daring to breathe as the half-veela stood stock-still. He was certain Joly was doing the same as him, while out of peripheral he could see Musichetta and Enjolras exchanging worried glances.

_Please no fire. Please no fire. Please no fire. Je suis désolé._

Jehan exhaled heavily and marched on.“Only you, R, only you.”

Every tense muscle in his body visibly relaxed. He pointedly cleared his throat and wrapped up his off topic spiel about aristocratical execution, pretending for all his worth that he hadn’t just been seconds away from potentially dodging a fireball.

The last thing he wanted was a repeat of The Great Inkspill back in ‘92.  
  
“Interesting isn’t it? How there are so many parallels between our history and the Muggles but one can still be so ignorant of the other.” Enjolras pursed his lips in thought, and Grantaire watched his eyes slip over to Jehan for a moment. “Another thing I’ve been meaning to ask - how is it you both speak English so well? I mean, uh, don’t take this the wrong way, the accents are still there and all, it’s just that neither of you seem to have a hard time with it compared to the rest of your delegation.” 

“Oh? I’m surprised you noticed.” He wondered if that meant Enjolras already had run ins with his schoolmates, though it was more likely he had just overheard conversations in the hallways. Either way, he knew what he meant.

“Mother is French, but father is Moroccan, hence me.” He gestured to his light eyes and dark complexion. “Papa always struggled with French and since maman worked in tourism, it was easier to speak English at home together. As for Jehan, well. . . He is fluent in five languages. Let us leave it at that.”

French, English, Italian, Spanish and Latin, to be precise, but Grantaire didn’t bother elaborating. In the mornings it was always funny to see how long it would take for a sleepy Jehan to realise most of what he was saying was barely intelligible to others. So far, the record stood at around an hour and a half following an Italian monologue regarding the accuracy of prophesying via palm-reading.

“Impressive.” He appeared to have more to add, but whatever else he was about to say dropped as his fine features twisted into an ugly scowl.

It was an expression that halted Grantaire in his tracks. Over the course of the day he’d seen quite a range of the blond’s emotions, but this level of distaste was something else entirely.

“You alright back there?” Joly asked.

Grantaire only shrugged in response. Following Enjolras’ line of sight, it turned out it wasn’t that difficult to see what had drawn his attention. There was a pair huddled in what appeared to be an intimate conversation down by the shores of the Black Lake. The boy had a mop of ash brown hair and was clearly a Hogwarts student. The smaller figure beside him must’ve been one of the Durmstrang girls, one he vaguely recognised to be their Headmaster’s assistant. . . Though there had been some confusion at first from the Hufflepuff scarf wound around her neck.

He rolled his eyes. So what harm was a bit of PDA, if it could even be called that? Sure, their heads had been close together but it wasn’t as if there were any hands wandering where they shouldn’t have been. If Enjolras was this put off by the sight of one couple, then maybe Grantaire needed to reconsider his choice in crushes. . .

“Euphrasie!” The name cut through the idle ambience like the crack of a whip. As if sensing its master’s distaste, Brorsa darted down the shallow incline to pounce on the poor boy.

Vicious little thing it was, Grantaire suspected the student would have a good deal of scratches later on.

The blonde girl -Euphrasie?- jolted upright and turned towards the direction her name had come from.

She was met with the disapproving shake of Enjolras’ head.

One good look at her face and Grantaire promptly decided that she and Enjolras were related. The colouring was obvious enough, but the similarities were also evident in the slope of their noses, the height of their cheekbones and the arch of their brows.

 . . . Maybe he’d just spent too long staring at Enjolras’ face.

Either way, his actions made more sense now. Seeing the girl with an unfamiliar boy probably triggered Enjolras’ big brother instinct. Euphrasie looked down and away, regretfully unwinding the black and yellow scarf around her neck. 

With the way her lips were moving, she appeared to be stammering as she returned the scarf. Grantaire couldn’t exactly hear her words, but he could guess it was probably a string of apologies. He watched as she pried Brorsa off the boy, scooping the offending cat into her arms, then making for their direction. To her credit, she only looked back once.

Polite greetings were exchanged when she joined their group, though it was obvious there wouldn’t be time for more than that. Joly and Musichetta picked up their pace and so Grantaire fell into step with Jehan. They spoke softly, their discussion mostly about what they’d learned about their new companions. According to Jehan, it turned out that Joly often volunteered to aid the school nurse and Musichetta had a knack for ancient runes. Also, there was a third person in their relationship -Bossuet- who unfortunately lacked the ‘luck of the Irish’ his fellow countrymen had.

Grantaire sighed when their conversation ended. He knew they were only pretending to ignore the still ongoing disagreement behind them. At least he assumed it was a disagreement, they spoke lowly but their language sounded like a harsh one to him. For all he knew, they may have been showering each other with affection and it would still sound like they were bickering over chocolate frog cards.

“ _. . .Helvete va jobbigt. . ._ ”

Nevermind. Definitely a disagreement. Grantaire was sure there was a swear word in there.

 

 

 

 

“ _Two champions_. How can there be _two champions_?”

“Actually there are four. Marie-Jeanne and Simone were in tears over it, remember? ”

“There. Are. Two. _Hogwarts._ Champio- you know what? There should be six.”

“Wait, what?”

Grantaire abandoned his half-hearted game of solitaire in favour of watching him pace across their sleeping quarters, which were every bit as ostentatious as their dorms back home. He was actually surprised the other hadn’t asked him to just accept the turnout and head to bed already, like the other boys had. The heavy velvet curtains of Bellamy and Fabian’s adjacent bunk were already tightly drawn with quietening charms cast. They preferred to sulk and nurse their wounded pride in peace rather than listen to any more of Jehan’s whimsical proposals.

The lot of them could think what they want, but Jehan would not be dissuaded. “There should be six champions! Think about it R! It would be a fairer contest if Beauxbatons and Durmstrang also had additional competitors.”

“That would be nice, but it’s too late now.” Grantaire flopped back onto his bed, uncaring of the playing cards sent scattering in his wake. “The Goblet has already extinguished itself, next tournament perhaps.”  
  
Oh, that was true. No other could be involved in the tournament now that the flame had died. He clicked his tongue in dismay and turned down the light of the enchanted lantern illuminating the room. As he scaled the ladder and settled into his own bed, Jehan found himself far too invested in matters he couldn’t change, his concerns now wandering towards the actual Champions themselves. 

Their own Champion, _dearest_ cousin Fleur. Conceited. Arrogant. Aloof. All those words were often used to describe her, but then again the same words could be applied to the majority of their delegation. High opinions about oneself were rarely without basis and the Goblet choosing Fleur spoke more than enough about her actual capabilities aside from merely having a pretty face. Jehan knew that beneath that breathtaking exterior she was armed to the teeth with courage and an arsenal of manipulative charms at her disposal.

He wasn’t worried about her performance in the upcoming tasks. Madame Maxine would unleash righteous fury on anyone who dared question the skills of her chosen students. Every single one of them was here for a reason - the giantess being able to look at each and see the potential to be the last one standing.

The famous Chosen One was who he was truly concerned about. Reputation aside, the boy’s age couldn’t be overlooked. Now, Jehan wasn’t exactly an expert on the history of the past Tournaments, but surely the boy was at an obvious disadvantage? He was a holly sapling rooted beside weathered ash, hornbeam and rosewood. The boy was fourteen, for Merlin’s sake, it was no coincidence that the foreign schools brought candidates in their seventh year before the age rule was even announced.

There was a considerable gap between the magic learned at different year levels, it was like comparing a film script to the book it was based on. One merely covered the essentials of the plot, the other went into depth about the world, characters and subplots. An understanding of the fundamentals had to be developed before more advanced magic could be utilised. How his name even managed to be drawn was another discussion entirely.

As for, Cedric something, wasn’t it? The first Hogwarts Champion. From what little Jehan did see of him he seemed as if he could do well. Not to mention the applause he received when his name was called. Unlike Harry, who mas met with silence and confusion, Cedric appeared to have the full backing of his peers. At least he’d be kept in high spirits, if nothing else.

Viktor was another name Jehan was familiar with - funny how all the Champions were popular in one way or another. Perhaps he could ask Enjolras about obtaining Krum’s autograph for Gavroche. Maybe then, the roguish second year would stop rearranging his flower pots - hellebore and cleomes should never be beside each other, okay, their sunlight requirements are completely different. . . Anyways, if Durmstrang reputation proved true, Viktor would be a formidable duelist with a strong grasp on practical magic. Regarding physical aspects, Jehan had no doubt Viktor would be the strongest competitor.

Of course thinking about the Durmstrang Champion only made his thoughts wander over to the Durmstrang _candidates_. More specifically, Enjolras’ dark twin whom Jehan still had no actual name for. Calling him Hades straight to his face wouldn’t be the best idea either. Ironically, the name had more negative connotations despite the deity himself being the most relaxed of the Greek Pantheon. At least according to the myths.

Jehan sighed, pulling the covers up over his head. He may look like a mound of blankets to anyone else, but having his face exposed while he slept felt downright _strange_. Plus it was cold, warming charm be damned.  
  
Ugh.

He should just end his train of thought and go to sleep already, at this rate he was going to have dark circles worse than Grantaire on a bad day.

An entire school year had yet to be worked through, Champion or not. There would be classes to attend, assignments to hand in, and new faces to meet. He had plenty of time to make nice, make friends, make love. . .

Not necessarily in that order.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr [here.](http://dance-with-the-diaval.tumblr.com)
> 
> I still can't believe how the two centuries worth of French history I learned in my Art Hist. class last year tied in so well with Les Mis o.o
> 
> This chapter was more to establish background and context, the following ones will have more interactions. The POV will continue to alternate between Jehan and Grantaire each chapter, but there will be obvious focus on developing one relationship or the other per chapter. 
> 
> Since the story is mostly told from Grantaire and Jehan's POV I've tried to keep the French at a minimum to make it easier to read. It's also why neither of them speak with the heavy accents the other Beauxbatons students have. Trust me- before I took liberties with their backstories the original script had the accent in. It was difficult and annoying to keep it up since they have so many speaking parts. 
> 
> Translations:  
> 1) "Brothers?"  
> 2) "What, where?!"  
> 3) Enchanted, Delighted, "Nice to meet you."  
> 4) "I'm sorry."  
> 5) Along the lines of "...So fucking annoying..."


End file.
